Page 2 of Runaway Bride for the Boss

How many women with strawberry blonde hair could’ve been at the New York Public Library at seven fucking PM on that exact night? When I came home, I had my men digging deeper using her initials. But AWM was just as fruitless, and after a whole year of obsessively searching for her, she still proves to be elusive.

I sigh as I lift a glass of scotch to my lips, cherishing the smooth burn as the liquor glides down my throat.

“What’s got your undies in a bunch, ‘ol grumpy pants?” A dark haired, blue eyed woman smirks as she tops my glass. I roll my eyes.

Only my sister and brother can get away with insulting me, and that’s strictly because they know my threats to them areempty. Mostly. I would never do anything to actually hurt either one of them…public humiliation is never off the table, though.

“Get out of here, Andrea.”

The shithead simply leans her elbow on the bar across from me. “No really, I want to know. You’ve been extra grumbly ever since you got back from that New York trip last year. Do us all a favor and spill! My regulars basically consider me as their therapist. And tip accordingly,” she adds with a wink.

I’ve never met anyone half as observant as Andrea. Except me, of course. She could be really useful in the family business, but she’s always been headstrong and decided to branch off on her own. Being a girl certainly helped the decision go down easier with Dad. His precious baby girl can do no wrong. I take another sip of my drink then say for the umpteenth time, “Come work for me, Andrea. You wouldn’t really be in the family business if you’re working for me personally.”

She huffs and stands upright, taking a step away from me like I knew she would. Topic successfully changed. “I know what you’re doing, Alex. I’m only letting you get away with it because it’s a busy night for us, and I’m short staffed. We’ll continue this conversation later,” she promises as she leaves to tend to a customer, no doubt prying into their deepest secrets in the process.

The Liquid Elixir is one of the hottest bars in Brattleboro; it’s especially busy tonight because of the unexpected storm that rolled in this evening. I sigh when my phone starts to ring. Ezra.

“What do you want?”

“Wow. Is that any way to talk to your dear beloved brother?”

I sigh again. “Are you drunk? What the hell, Ezra? Where are you?” I’m already standing as I ask the questions, tossing a wad of bills on the bar top. Andrea catches my gaze from across the room.

“What?” she mouths. On nights when I have time to come into her bar, I like to stay till she closes. She has the protection of the Beaufort name, so I know she’s relatively safe. But there’s still the occasional brave idiot who tries to use her against us. She hired a security guard for the bar, but I still like being there.

“Ezra,” I mouth back and she rolls her eyes.

I smile. Those two fight like cats and dogs. The middle child and the baby, living up to their roles.

“No way bro. I’m not drunk. You are!” Ezra shouts in my ear, and I wince, taking the phone away from my ear.

“Where the hell are you?” I demand, lowering my voice menacingly so he knows I mean business.

As I make my way to the back door of the bar, my gut tightens and something pulls at my attention. A petite woman has her back turned to me as she walks toward the bar with hunched shoulders. Her wet hair is soaked through, as is her ivory dress. Is that a wedding gown? I do a double take but Ezra is rattling off an address, so I shake her out of my head, concentrating on my brother.

Either her groom is in the bar with her—although I didn’t catch sight of him, and she doesn’t exactly look like a blushing newly married bride—or she’s a runaway. It’s none of my business, but I’m discomforted by how much willpower it takes to leave her here, rain soaked and alone.

Not my problem, I repeat to myself and walk out into the rain.

CHAPTER 2

AUTUMN

Head up. Smile. Don’t look suspicious. Head up. Smile. Don’t look suspicious.

I repeat the mantra over and over as I walk through the wide lobby of The Westin New York at Times Square in my ostentatious Monique Lhuillier wedding dress. I’m grateful the dress is long enough to cover my sneaker-clad feet. That would definitely raise an alarm. What bride wears sneakers to her wedding? It’s strange enough that I'm leaving without my bridal party.

My heart pounds as I reach the front doors and the security guy stares me down suspiciously. Relief floods me when he nods, muttering, “Ms. Montgomery.”

I try to smile at him, but only a grimace comes through. I wish I had had enough time to change out of this ridiculous dress, but undoing the buttons down the length of my spine alone would take probably thirty minutes, I can’t risk it! At this very moment, Alicia, my soon-to-be mother-in-law—scratch that, ex-mother-in-law. Ugh, is that even a thing?

Anyway, by now, Alicia should be knocking at my room to tell me it’s time to depart for the wedding venue. I glance around wildly, absentmindedly noticing the setting sun—Larsonthought it’d be romantic to have a five PM wedding—as I try to quickly unlock the door of my green Volkswagen Beetle, glad as hell that I secretly drove my trusty car to the hotel instead of the shiny new one Larson had bought me last year.

I had finally agreed to have this car scrapped, but my sentimental heart convinced me to hide it in a parking lot instead of taking it to the yard. I told myself that I’d have it scrapped after the wedding. “Getting rid of the old as I enter a new phase of my life.” What a load of bull.

My car groans when I turn the ignition. “No. no. no. Please no.” Not now. I try again and it finally starts with a slight sputter. I blow out a relieved breath and drive away as fast as I can in this slow as hell car. I head south on Broadway toward west 47th Street. I adjust my legs beneath the massive skirt of my low-waisted appliqued dress. I swear under my breath, as I wish again that I’d had enough time to get my things. I didn’t even remember to grab my purse and phone.

My only possessions right now are my car and the wedding dress I’m wearing. Damn it.

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